My Gift To You
by Seifergrrl
Summary: Momiji and Kusanagi, five years in the future. Peace is hard won, normality both a pleasure and a burden. But when it's disrupted, what does it mean for Kusanagi and his wife?
1. Dropping The Bomb

Spoilers: For the entire series! Rating may change as the story progresses. 

**My Gift to You**

**A Tale of What Comes After**

**_By Amanda Lever_**

Everything was in place; dinner was made, the small table they shared their meals at set. Maple-leaf treats were warming in the oven, for after their meal. It was as perfect as Momiji could manage to make it. 

But even so, her preparations for the evening did not dispel the fluttering of her belly, or the nervousness that gripped her. Still, it was a good distraction, even if her hands shook slightly when she placed the dinnerware—a gift from the Kunikida family, on their first anniversary—just so. 

A glance to the clock told her that it was 5:15. Within the next five minutes, her husband would stride through that door, put his portfolio on the table, and likely kiss his waiting wife hello.

The minutes ticked by. She counted them. 

5:16.

5:17.

5:18.

The key clicked in the lock.

5:19. He was just a minute early.

Kusanagi Mamoru's appearance never ceased to thrill her; no matter how unique he looked, there was no other man for Momiji. From his messy green hair to the bronzed hue of his skin, he was as no other being on earth. Born of Aragami souls and a human host fused at infancy, he had been created to protect the legendary Princess Kushinada, Kusanagi's infant body has been implanted with the blue mitama, souls of the eight headed dragon Yamata-no-Orochi. It was his duty, as a slave, to keep the Kushinada alive. First Momiji's sister, Kaede, and then Momiji herself had filled the role of Kushinada, if in different ways.

Now, the Aragami slept, soothed by the Rite of Matsuri that Momiji herself had enacted over five years ago. Now, she was not a Kushinada anymore. She was Kusanagi Momiji, wife of Kusanagi Mamoru, her one time guardian, now living a mundane life as a freelance photographer. No war. No monsters. Just peace. 

It was so precious, that peace.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the smack of his portfolio was on the table nearest the door. His long, red coat was removed and hung up, and he took off his shoes and slid into his house slipper, muttering all the while. She hoped he hadn't been gypped out of a commission again.

Once the ritual of coming home and he had wriggled his feet into his slippers, he lifted his head to grin at his waiting wife. He was trying not be grouchy, but it was obvious he was preoccupied; the furrow between the two sets of brows gave away his irritation everytime.

"What are you looking so good for?" he asked with a slightly forced grin. "I know it's not our anniversary." 

She smiled. His memory was always good. 

"No," she said. "Not that."

His slippered feet whispered over the floor, as he approached her. A gloved hand reached up to cup her cheek affectionately, and he leaned in to give her a sweet if somewhat rushed kiss in greeting.

"So what is it?" he asked. 

"I have something important to tell you," Momiji said, feeling her stomach clench again. His day had already been poor, she could tell. Should she make it worse? It could wait until later, couldn't it?

He arched one of his double-brows, both curving in a curious expression. "Do you, now?" He eyed the table. "Over dinner?"

"I thought it best to have it warm and ready!" She said a little too quickly, betraying her anxiety. "But – would you like to eat first or have the news first?" Her nervousness was palpable. 

He finally noticed.

Grin fading away,  Kusanagi's hands came up to grip her shoulders, steadying her physically as her heart's strength wavered.

"What is it, Momiji?" He asked, his dark eyes searching her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Not wrong." Her anxiety remained, but she tried to smile her brightest as her next three words shattered Kusanagi's world.

"Mamoru, I'm pregnant." 


	2. Clearing The Air

Disclaimers in the first chapter, etc.

**My Gift To You**

**A tale of what comes after**

Where Momiji cooked, Kusanagi did dishes. It was the trade off, like everything in their lives. She cooked, he did dishes. She stayed home and took care of the house, he worked. She held the purse strings; he held a job.

It wasn't Tokyo, but Izumo. He had preferred it this way, in the end. Near the path on which they'd met from the Cave of Restoration. Her mother's failing health had lead to a nursing home, and so the Fujimiya home was now their home. Quiet large for just the two of them, but he always suspected that Momiji thought it was just space to be filled with family.

Family was not something he could not avoid now. 

Ever since the bomb had been dropped, he seemed to be swimming through a thick haze. It had taken him a moment to register what she'd said and in no uncertain terms, his lack of enthusiasm about the whole thing had wounded her.

The last dish was set to dry on the rack, and he reached for the hand towel by the sink, drying off his hands. His gloves were tucked in a back pocket, but he didn't put them back on. It was a sort of sign between them; when his hands were bare, he was vulnerable, and he was hers. 

Playing the situation over and over again in his mind, he was certain of its outcome. Momiji was in their room crying her eyes out because he hadn't been happy that he was going to be a father.

Unplugging the drain, Kusanagi listened to the water gurgle down the drain. He leaned against the countertop, his hands pressed against the edge. The dirty water and soap suds swirled, sucking down into the black hole of the drain and he watched it all, feeling his world go with it.

Fatherhood was nothing he had looked forward to. Or even expected. After all, he'd never really thought about the consequences of their love. Beyond being happy with her, at least; he thought about that. That he was happy.

But not that being blissfully happy might be derailed by being a father.

Fears were already whispering in his ear. He wasn't human anymore. While he was certain the eight mitama that made him Aragami did not make him less of a man in Momiji's eyes, he knew he was not the same as her or her kin, anymore. He had not been since Orochi had made him the guardian of the Kushinada, the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi.

But if he was Aragami, and she was human… what the hell had their love created, anyway? Happiness? And what else?

The sink was empty. He stared at the stainless steel, and then canted his gaze upwards.

Momiji was upstairs, in their room.

The gloves were taken out of his pocket, and given a brief glance. Once worn to help hide his mitama, they had been armor and they both knew it. Now they were off, and he was unguarded. Tossing them without ceremony to the table he headed upstairs slowly, slippered feet quiet on the stairs.

Her tiny sobs were only audible just outside their door. 

Inwardly, he kicked himself. Idiot, he told himself. Idiot. A few other choice words came to mind as he opened the door and let himself in, still quiet. 

His wife curled on their bed, her slippers kicked off, hugging one pillow and hiding her face in the other. He wondered if he could kick himself, after a moment, but didn't bother trying to find out. 

He was sure she knew he was there, but she did not roll over or even move from her fetal curl upon the bed. Did she think he'd reject her now? That he didn't love her, because of this? He'd been so stupid, but he wasn't quite sure if he could have reacted any other way... How was he supposed to react, anyway? Did every husband jump for joy over a child? 

She didn't greet him as he moved over to their bed, sitting down at the edge of it, reaching out to touch her red hair, fingers skimming through the strands as her stroked her, trying to calm her.

"I'm sorry," he began lamely. "I just didn't know how to react, Momiji."

"Saying something other then 'okay' would have been helpful," she sniffled.

"Well, my first thought was 'This is a joke', but I didn't think that would be right," he admitted sheepishly.  
  
Momiji gave a groan, and then sat up slowly, rubbing at her reddened eyes. She did not resist when her husband slid and arm around her and tugged her against him gently.

"I just... I knew..."

"Knew what?"

"That it wouldn't make you happy," she said. When he didn't deny it, she added, "It makes me happy, Mamoru."

"It..." he pondered his next words with care. "It makes me nervous, Momiji." 

He felt her head move in a nod against his shoulder.

"I understand," she said slowly. "I'm kind of nervous myself. But I don't think for the same reasons." Her small hand lifted to lie over his chest; his mitama responded with a gentle pulse they both could feel. One mitama had been a part of her before it had been a part of him and it still connected them, even if the bond had weakened since it had been separated from her flesh. 

"I'm Aragami, Momiji," he said, as if he needed to say nothing else.

"You're Kusanagi Mamoru, and I love you," Momiji persisted, her green eyes still wet with tears. "And that is all that matters to me."

"And the baby?" Kusanagi prompted. "What about the baby, Momiji? What… what is…" 

His voce stilled as she looked up at him, making him meet her gaze. She weighed her words as carefully as he had weighed his before she finally spoke again.

"I don't think," she said with utmost care, "that any thing we make together could come out bad or wrong, Kusanagi Mamoru." Her hand left his chest, and found his ungloved palm. Taking it in hers, she pressed his hand to her belly, and added, "Including any child of ours."

She meant every word; he could hear her sincerity, see it on her face. It soothed some of his worries, but others remained. Still, he managed to smile for her, and leaned down to kiss her gently, assuaging her own worries.

Breaking away he said, "Alright, Princess. I won't worry if you won't, then." He smirked slightly, and then added, "But I'll be damned if I'm picking out baby names yet, okay?"

She laughed lightly, and both her arms were flung around his neck to hug him tightly. "Oh, Mamoru!" she cried, "It'll be okay! I promise!" She tugged him down to their bed, her arms still around him, and kissed him again. "I promise," she repeated in a whisper.

"I believe you," Kusanagi replied, and then tugged her close. "So… you wanna tell me when you figured out the grand news?"

"I… I was late," she said slowly, "and when we went up for little Ichiro's birthday," she said, speaking of Kunikida Daitetsu and Ryoko's first son, "I talked to Matsu-nee, and she ran some tests. It just seemed so funny… I mean, two years of marriage and only just now?" 

"You know, I never even thought about if I could have kids, Momiji," Kusanagi admitted.

"Well, she confirmed everything," Momiji said, cheer returning to her tone. "As of this week, I'll be eight weeks pregnant, Mamoru."

"So why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked. "Ichiro-kun's birthday was last week."

"She didn't call me with the results until this morning, just after you left," Momiji explained. "So I didn't know for sure until today."

"Ah. So... Eight weeks?" He blinked, and peered at her. "But... Hmm. That would mean…"

"Yeah," she gave a blissful sigh, memory washing over her. "That little jaunt to the sea." 

"Figures," he muttered, before giving her another kiss. "At least we can tell them lovely stories about their romantic vacation conception?"

"I don't want to tell them anything about their conception!" Momiji squealed in protest, "Pervert!"

"Only for you," he rumbled, drawing her close. "Only for you."

Affection had replaced worry, and now ardor replaced affection as the storm of dark emotions started to clear. As Momiji untucked his shirt, she murmured, "Promise?"

"Promise," he said, voice dropping in octave.

"Show me," she requested coyly.

He obliged her with great enthusiasm


	3. Matsunee

**My Gift To You**

**A Tale of What Comes After**

**Chapter 3**

Momiji was warm, comfy, and happy.

But the phone was ringing.

Momiji was _warm, comfy and__ happy._

But the phone kept ringing. It didn't seem to grasp that she was quite possibly in the best place in the world to be; in the loose circle of her husbands arms, basking in the afterglow of much needed lovemaking, affirmation of affection, and the fact that her worst fear had not be realized: Kusanagi had not once suggested they terminate the pregnancy.

The phone_ kept__ ringing! _

Finally, she slid out of Kusanagi's embrace, and clumsily grabbed the portable phone at their bedside from its cradle. She sat up, lifting the phone to her head, and then idly realized she had it upside down. Righting it, she stood up and whispered, "Moshi-moshi," into the receiver.

"Momiji-chan?"

Momiji refrained from answering further until she was in her robe and out the bedroom door, walking down the hall toward the stairs.

"Yes? Matsu-nee, is that you?"

"Yes, yes, Momiji-chan. Did I disturb you?"

A tiny smile crept onto to Momiji's face as she replied, "Oh, no." Perhaps a few hours earlier the phone call would have been an undue interruption, but not now.

"Good, good," Matsudeira's tone was pleasant, but held a single note of trepidation as she pushed on to ask, "Did you speak to your husband?"

"Yes," Momiji replied.

"And…?"

"He…" She took a breath, and slowly began, "He's scared, Matsu-nee."

"I don't blame him, to be honest with you," Matsudeira said gently. "Parenthood is a frightening thing, Momiji. I was a nervous wreck when I was pregnant with Jun. But for Kusanagi, it's probably more so."

"I know, I know…" Momiji tried not to sigh into the phone. 

"But you wanted him to be happy."

"Yes."

"That's not a bad thing, Momiji. But I don't think I need to lecture you on how to work with your husband," her tone turned wry,  knowing well her own failures as a wife and mother, "after all, I'm hardly one to give advice on martial matters."

"Matsu-nee is a very good mother," Momiji protested. 

"Ah, ah, we're digressing," Matsudeira's voice sounded amused, but she apparently had business on this call. "I wanted to ask you some questions, Momiji. What do you intend to do now?"

Momiji's expression crumpled slightly and she admitted with hesitance, "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

Matsudeira's voice, more then her words, said that she had.  "I was wondering if you might come back into Tokyo. Both you and Kusanagi."

"Tokyo? But why?"

"Momiji, your pregnancy is completely unique," Matsudeira reminded her, though there was no small amount of concern to her tone. "And there is not a single doctor in Izumo who can handle your pregnancy. I want to make sure you deliver the healthiest, happiest child you can... but I can't do it in Izumo. However, we have the TAC facilities…"

"TAC? But, that'd be like..."

"Like what?" 

"Like… when I was Kushinada." Momiji's voice dropped, and she added in a hushed whisper, "Kusanagi won't like it. He'll be suspicious."

Matsudeira's answer was firm, "Then he can come to me, and ask me, as a father to a mother, if I plan on experimenting on his child. My answer to you and to him will be 'no'." But then her voice gentled, and she said, "I know this will be hard for you both, for so many reasons, but I do want to help, Momiji-chan. But I can't help you in Izumo. I can help you here, in Tokyo."

Momiji sighed softly, defeated by the doctor's logic. "Alright. I'll talk to him about it tonight, and call you back. Will that be okay?"

"Yes. But I'd like to have you back within the week. If possible, I'd like to arrange for you to stay with the Kunikida family for a while."

"I haven't told them yet!"

There was a brief pause, and some papers shuffled in the background, "I already have, Momiji-chan."

"Matsu-nee!" Momiji struggled to keep her voice down, but couldn't hide her hurt. "That was my news to break!"

"I know, but I wanted them to be prepared, Momiji, as well as discuss possible avenues for your stay in Tokyo."

"You sound like it's already decided," Momiji said sourly.

"I think once you and Kusanagi think about what I've said, you'll see eye to eye with me," Matsudeira said with conviction. "I await your reply, alright?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Matsu-nee."

"Not at all. Good luck, Momiji-chan!"

"Thank you! Good bye!"

Momiji clicked the phone off as Matsudeira hung up, and then let her hands dangle between her knees. 

"Mou!" she said aloud, before heaving a sigh. She didn't want to talk to Kusanagi about this. She knew how he felt about Matsudeira; their respect for each other was a tentative thing at best, and relied heavily on Momiji's willingness to put up with Matsudeira's experimentation when she was the Kushinada under the protection of the TAC, and the fact that Matsudeira did not treat her as an object, but a person.

Brow furrowe in thought, Momiji didn't hear the footsteps on the floor behind her.

"Who was on the phone?" 

Momiji jumped slightly at she heard her husband's voice behind her, and glanced back over her shoulder. He'd climbed into his shorts and staggered out of their bedroom, looking content if a little bewildered.

"And why did you leave the nice warm bed all cold to get up and answer it?"  he added as he sat down behind her, extending his long legs to either side of hers. He encircled her waist with his arms, and then rested his cheek against her hair. 

"Well, I was sort of expecting the call," Momiji answered, as she nestled back into Kusanagi's warm embrace. "It was Matsu-nee," she began slowly, testing the waters with the woman's name.

Kusanagi seemed calm, nodding once. 

"She… wants us to come back to Tokyo," she ventured slowly at first, before the words burst forth in a nervous rush. "She says it's better if we come in to Tokyo and stay with the Kunikidas and be close to the facilities they can use and—"

"Okay."

She stopped mid ramble. 

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Kusanagi replied with a nod. "I… I sort of figured…" he shrugged his shoulders slightly, and then tightened his arms around her. "When you said she did the test, I knew she'd ask for us to come back."

He didn't sound thrilled, but it was a better reaction then she really could have hoped for. He wasn't putting up a fuss or a fight, and he'd yet to make any warnings or threats.

"Thank you," she said. 

"Do the Kunikidas know?" he asked after a moment's quiet.

"Yeah," she replied. "Matsu-nee told them," she explained, laying her hand over his. "She wanted to be sure we had a place."

"Are they going to complain if we have lots of noisy sex?" he asked with a slight grin, and took the elbow to her ribs that was her reply without so much as a grunt. 

"Shall I make the arrangements?" she asked, as she began to extricate herself from the circle of his arms.

"Yeah," Kusanagi replied. "It's fine." He let her go, and then stood up once she went down the stairs. 

"Should we go Kusanagi Air, and have our things shipped in?" Momiji asked with a slight grin, only to have it fade when he shook his head.

"I'd rather drive," he said with a weak smile. "Something goes wrong and I drop not one, but two Kusanagi women, and I don't think I'd be up for husband _or father of the year awards." His point made, he cleared the stairs to catch her, kiss her briefly, and then said, "But don't worry. We'll fly again soon."_

She nodded once, and then said, "I'll call Matsu-nee, to tell her we're decided, and then call the Kunikidas."

"I'll go down to the post office to put a hold on our mail," Kusanagi replied, heading back upstairs. "After a shower," he added with a slight smirk, reaching out to catch his wife's hand. "Together?" 

"Okay," she laughed.

It was good to still be young and in love, she decided as he tugged her up the stairs, back to their room. It wasn't easy, sometimes, but there were definite benefits to meeting the man of your dreams before the age of twenty, that was certain!


	4. Tension on the Horizon

**My Gift To You**

**A Tale of What Comes After**

**_By Amanda Lever_**

While it had been less then two weeks since Kusanagi had looked upon the Tokyo skyline, he found that it was a less comforting sight every time he saw it. The last time he had taken flight over the buildings of Tokyo, it had been to give Kunikida Ichiro a view of Tokyo from the clouds. Now, he looked at it from the guest room at the Kunikida's home.

The child had loved it, Kusanagi reflected; he had clung to the young man as he simply lifted up and carried him slowly over the nearby neighborhood. It had been a short trip; Ichiro was only three, after all. 

He had never imagined that he might do it with his own child.

He could hear the family moving downstairs; Ryoko's soft voice was a pleasant, background hum, while Ichiro's sharp, child voice pierced it with his questions. Kunikida and Momiji were not there, having gone to pick up Matsudeira and her son. Everyone was going to come over for drinks and dinner tonight, to hear the news from the couple directly.

Deep in his heart, dread gripped him. Brooding, he missed the sound of tiny feet outside the door, and then glanced back as the door slid open. Ichiro; dark haired, dark eyed, with a prominent mole beneath his right eye, wobbled in from the doorway, hands out stretched.

"Kusa!" the child squealed, and walked over without so much as a by-your-leave and latched onto Kusanagi's pantleg. He apparently had just had something sticky: he left a massive handprint on Kusanagi's pants. "Kusa!" he squealed again; he hadn't quite mastered 'Kusanagi', so the first two syllables of the aragami's name was all he earned from the child.

Leaning down, the child was swept up into Kusanagi's arms; the aragami grimaced at the gooey substance. Was that icing? Cream from a cookie? He couldn't tell! However, Ichiro seemed immune to Kusanagi's dour mood, wanting to pat his face and give him a big, sticky hug.

The child was put down post-haste. Kusanagi headed for the door, knowing Ichiro would follow. 

Follow Ichiro did, wobbling right after Kusanagi; down the hall, to the stairs. However, he stopped at the room closest to them, and listened at the door.

This was the nursery, where the second Kunikida son lay; down for his afternoon nap. On impulse, he cracked the door open.

It was a room of shadows; none of the brightness that had been lavished upon Ichiro had been spent here. But there had been no point.

Kunikida Eigetsu would never see them.

Where Ichiro had been born healthy, curious and active, Eigetsu has been born too soon, and his eyes seemed incomplete. Simple circles of unfinished, milky tissue, the child had not been ready for the world when the surprise labor put Ryoko in the hospital. 

A simple, congenital defect is what the doctors said. It could not have been helped. Those words didn't ease the frustration or the sense of failure for the Kunkidas and it made Kusanagi wonder.

What would they call _his_ child? Would a mitama be a 'congenital defect'? 

Ichiro stomped his feet on the stairs, trying to get Kusanagi's attention. He didn't much care for the brother he couldn't touch or play with yet – and might never, really. But Kusanagi went down the stairs before Ichiro woke his baby brother, and tsked gently. 

"Learn patience," he admonished the child. 

Ichiro pleasantly ignored him and continued on to the kitchen. Kusanagi noted, as he did every time he had walked through the Kunikida house since Eigetsu had been born, that there was not a single sharp edge or unblunted corner in the house anymore. They'd completely rearranged the furniture, preparing to raise their disabled son.

Walking through the house these days was alien to the time he had spent in it after the Matsuri Rite. Everything that he had known was gone. Everything had changed…

Except the people.

Ryoko bounded out of the kitchen with a smile on her face, hair still flopped over one eye. "Kusanagi," she greeted him, "has Ichiro been bothering you?"

"No," he replied as the boy latched onto his mother's skirt much like he'd grabbed hold of Kusanagi's pantlegs – complete with matching, gooey handprints. "Though you may want to scrub his hands."

"Oh! He must've gotten into one of the boxes of sweets," Ryoko said, kneeling down to scoop up her child. She swept him over to the sink, to get a wash drag and begin the arduous process of cleaning off the hands of a squirming three year old – made doubly difficult by trying to keep him on the countertop. By the time she was finished, Ichiro was clean, but her shirt definitely wasn't.

Setting him down, she dabbed at the sticky spots on her blouse and sighed, even as Kusanagi once again found himself a victim of Ichiro's tree-climbing aspirations as he tugged at Kusanagi's pantleg, wanting up. Finally giving in, the aragami set the boy on his shoulders, and said, "You can go change that if you want. I can keep a hold of him."

Ryoko gave a grateful smile, and bobbed her head, heading past Kusanagi and her son to head upstairs. 

Tucking his legs beneath him, Kusanagi hovered in the air, amusing Ichiro by floating slowly out of the room; Kusanagi was amused with the glee and the clapping, and idly wondered if his son – or daughter – might fly beside him some day.

The thought was a guilty one; would he want his child to be aragami? Would he want her to have a mitama or eight? Ichiro's brown eyes, fair skin and dark hair were so mundane, so human; would his child have green locks, bronzed flesh, and cat's eyes? 

Swinging through the living room, Kusanagi headed slowly back toward the kitchen at a speed that ranked somewhere about 'lazy meandering', giving the boy plenty to coo over while his mother was occupied. Little hands patted Kusanagi's broad chest, and occasionally grabbed for handholds in his shirt when Ichiro felt less secure about his position above the ground. 

"You're good at that," Ryoko noted, as she came back down  the stairs, a new and stain free blouse on. "Getting in some practice?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Kusanagi admitted, "but I suppose so."

Ryoko waited for Kusanagi's feet to touch down and allow gravity to take its natural course before she reached for her son. Ichiro willingly went into his mother's arms, only to squirm to be put down. She reluctantly allowed him down, and then sighed, watching as he beelined for the kitchen. "He's going to ruin his supper," she muttered.

"I think he already did, if his hands were any clue," Kusanagi replied with a slight smirk.

"Just wait till you're chasing your own about, Kusanagi Mamoru. You'll understand what work it can be!" Ryoko chided him They looked through the door; Ichiro was already trying to get to the box of cookies set back against the counter.

"He's always after _something_," Kusanagi mused as Ryoko trailed after her son to shoo him away from the counter. 

"They are. Still learning, though. I mean, didn't you—" 

"No," Kusanagi cut off that thought. "No, I didn't."

There was a moment of silence that stretched between them, interrupted only by Ichiro's protest at being hefted up into his mother's arms. He promptly began to squirm; Ryoko was forced to let the subject drop lest her son do just that.

Setting the boy down on the floor, the awkward silence stretched between them, as Ichiro again immediately headed for the goodies he had just been denied. Both adults groaned quietly, and Ryoko again plucked her son up. 

"Here," Kusanagi finally offered. "He seems to stop that with me." 

Ryoko nodded once, and passed her son to the Aragami youth, before turning to finish the preparations for dinner. 

"Down!" Ichiro demanded as he wriggled in Kusanagi's arms.

"No," Kusanagi replied firmly. "You're going to stay with me, Ichiro-kun, and you're going to like it."  He hefted the boy up again, and lifted from the floor, hovering there. Flight was no real effort for Kusanagi; he could have simply floated there all afternoon if he wanted.

However, Ichiro was not calmed by the drink his aragami 'uncle' could do; this time he wanted down and he wanted down now. Kusanagi endured his wriggling as he floated over to the couch, before he dropped the squirming three year old to the cushions beneath him. 

That earned him a squeal of delight and kicking feet. "Again! Again!" 

Kids enjoyed the damndest things.

Kusanagi obliged him twice more, going a little higher for the last drop – but the key in the door interrupted any more playtime. Ichiro rolled off the couch and stumbled toward the door – only to latch onto his father's legs before he could even make it past the threshold.

"Tousan!" 

Kunikida Daitetsu was stopped dead by the toddler wrapped around his legs – however, Kusanagi was not. Regaining his feet, he darted over to catch the box of pastries that Kunikida and Momiji had gone to pick after fetching Matsudeira from the lab.

Thankful for Kusanagi's fast hands, Kunikida let him take the pastries away while he picked up his son. They walked to the landing, each took off their shoes and put on house slippers, and followed after the aragami.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Kusanagi-kun," Matsudeira called over Momiji's shoulder as she went to relieve Kusanagi of the pastry box. 

"And you too, Matsu-nee," he replied; it wasn't really a pleasure for either of them, but polite formalities had their way. After all, Matsudeira was going to help ensure that Momiji's pregnancy went smoothly, so Kusanagi hardly had any reason to be openly hostile. 

Secretly hostile, on the other hand, was entirely different.

"Did Kome-chan call yet?" Momiji asked, as Ryoko appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"No," Ryoko replied. "They're probably on their way still, or stuck in traffic. If they're really delayed, they'll call."

"Let me help you, then!" Momiji said, as she went quickly into the kitchen. 

Kunikida and Kusanagi exchanged looks, simultaneously deciding the kitchen had just become off limits until dinner.

"Was everything peaceful why we were gone?" Kunikida asked, as he sat down with Ichiro. 

"Basically, yeah," Kusanagi assured him. "Though your son has fast hands a liking for sweets."

The older man laughed and ruffled the boy's thick hair. "Much like his father," Kunikida admitted with wryness. "Such are the things we give to our children, no?" 

"I'll find out, I suppose." Kusanagi said flatly. He was beginning to get tired of this attempt to lure him into pleasant baby-talk; Momiji at least allowed him to adjust on his own time, and ask questions and suggest things as they occurred to him. However, they'd only been at the Kunikida's a day and already he was thinking about throttline one or the both of them.

Sensing his displeasure with the subject, Kunikida stopped short with his next question. The doorbell rang even as the uncomfortable silence began. It was a veritable chime from heaven, and it brought Kunkida to his feet.

"That will be Yaegashi and Kome," he said, voice strained.

"I'll tell Momiji and Ryoko," Kusanagi said.

Both men parted, much left unsaid between them.


End file.
